No Good Can Come From A Talking Parrot
by Space-facade
Summary: Just a quick one-shot written to get me back into the swing of writing for this fandom. Inspired by a parrot I know that once escaped, and that does a truly atrocious Bond impression.


**This is a bit of nothing really, just a one-shot I wrote to get back into the swing of the fandom. Inspired I must admit by the use of Rex as an alarm clock in 01x03. Reviews make me very happy.**

It was the middle of an unusually hot July. Outside, the sky was a brilliant, cerulean blue, and the air was perfectly still. Not a soul was to be seen around the University campus. Everyone was either at home, or secreted away somewhere blessedly cool, taking full advantage of the miracle of air-conditioning. There was the sense that no-one wanted to move too fast, didn't want to risk stirring the stifling air. Except in one place. In Professor Nick Cutter's office, havoc was about to break free.

At first glance, the room seemed like any other University study. Sunlight streamed through the overhead skylight, filling the room with stuffy warmth that made it hard to breathe, and illuminating the dust motes gallivanting through the air. The majority of the room was filled with books, and where there weren't books, there were piles and piles of papers. Fossils, rocks, and assorted coffee cups littered the desk, and there was the smell of history and old paper in the air. The only object in the room that seemed at all out of place in this typical study was an empty bird cage, rolling on its side by a glass cabinet, its wire door sprung open.

At this point, other than an ominously wobbling pile of papers over by one window, the room was empty. Then, ever so slowly the door opened a crack, and then another crack, until eventually a head was revealed, poking around the door, an expression of extreme apprehension adorning the features.

'Can you see it?'

The hissed whisper came from behind the door and was slightly muffled as a result. The head shook.

'Five, four, three…'

'Get on with it, Connor!'

The muffled whisper had a distinctly exasperated tone to it this time.

'TwoOne!'

The door was flung open with enough force to send it reverberating off the bookshelf behind, and through the opening appeared two figures. One jumped through with a spring, vaguely resembling a James Bond move, and the other stepped through just as swiftly, but considerably more quietly, closing the still shaking door behind her, and wincing as the abused hinges groaned in protest.

The young man had shoulder-length dark hair and appeared to have dressed in the dark, if the ragtag assortment of colours and patterns he was wearing was anything to go by. The girl had white hair, cut into a pixie-like crop, and was wearing dark blue jeans, a simple tank top, and motorcycle boots, which were a doubtful choice considering the weather. Both were peering around the room.

'I don't see it.' The young man was shaking his head, and from the impressive puppy-dog eyes, was on the edge of despair.

'Well, it must be in here somewhere! There are cobwebs on the window frames, and I highly doubt they even open and it was in here when you left it!'

The girl turned, the look on her face slightly menacing.

'It WAS in here when you left it, Connor? You didn't, god forbid, leave the door open?'

The man, Connor, shook his head, a wounded expression on his face.

'Abby…'

She glared.

'Well you do have rather a habit of letting prehistoric creatures escape, **don't **you Connor? What is it, eight days of washing up and four days of breakfast in bed you still owe me?'

'I still don't know how he got out!'

'**You left the goddamn window open!**'

Over by the window, the pile of papers gave another ominous wobble. Connor and Abby exchanged a glance.

'Gotcha.' Abby muttered.

Slowly, slowly, the two people began to close in, one clutching a net, and the other an old towel. The distance closed, three metres away, two metres away, one metre away…

BANG!

There was an alarming crash, and the sound of a loud voice, the Scottish accent accentuated in irritation.

'…an' I told the bloody Dean that if he wants the first draft a' the exam by Tuesday then…'

'KRARRRRK!'

There was a hoarse, irritated squawk, and in a flurry of multi-coloured feathers, scattered exam papers, and bird droppings, a bundle launched itself to the skies, missing the head of one of the men that had just entered by a bare inch.

'CLOSE THE DOOR!'

Abby and Connor spoke in tandem, and in equally panicked tones. The door was hurriedly shut.

'Abby, **what **is going on? And **what **is that?'

The taller of the newcomers spoke first, leaving the shorter blond man to recover his breath, his question directed very pointedly at the younger woman. Connor looked vaguely disgruntled. Abby just looked embarrassed.

'It's a…uh…well, we think it's a parrot.'

'You think?'

'Long story'

'I don' care whether or not it's a fucking parrot, what is it doing in my office?!'

The owner of the room had apparently recovered. He was a good head shorter than his dark companion, with sandy blonde hair that stuck up in all directions, piercing blue eyes, and a candy-stripe shirt that should never have looked good but did. His friend had short dark hair, darker blue eyes, and that irritating natural grace that many people imitate, but so few really achieve.

'We had a little…accident.'

'An accident?'

Eyebrows vanished into hairlines.

'Well, Abby got a call, at the zoo. Someone had this parrot that they thought might not be a parrot. They wanted her to take a look.'

'Abby?'

'I went to see this man. Claimed he found the bird in his aviary one morning, fed it, caught it, and kept it. Turns out he's a bit of a bird freak, but he didn't recognise the plumage or the beak, so he thought he'd contact an expert for a second opinion. I'm quite into birds but…Problem, Connor?'

Grinning, the young man shook his head.

'Carry on.'

Abby's glare was icy.

'As I was saying, I'm no real expert, but I could tell that he wasn't from this period. The feathers are unlike anything I've ever seen.'

Four heads turned to peer into a shadowed corner, where a disgruntled look bundle of feathers was perched high on a bookcase. The plumage was rainbow coloured just like a parrot's, but each feather was very long, and split at the end into a small explosion of separate strands. It was a bizarre looking creature no doubt about it.

'We confiscated him, and brought him here to show the Professor before taking him to Lester just in case he was, you know, just a weird bird, but Connor fell over a fossil, and dropped the cage and well…'

She gestured at the ceiling with a helpless expression.

'His name is Solly – short for Solomon,' Connor interjected with the satifisfied look of one supplying immensely helpful information.

'Bloody wonderful.' The Professor's earlier bad mood did not seem to have improved. 'How do we catch him? Stephen?'

The man shrugged, and what followed was half an hour of glorious chaos, with shouts and smashes ricocheting off the walls, and more than one alarmed outsider peering through the window in alarm.

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An hour or so later, the four people entered a large, chrome-and-glass structured building, known to those who worked there as the Home Office. They were carrying a large cage, with a blanket draped over half of it. It kept rattling.

Upon entering the offices, the edged up to the receptionist, and showed passes. She was a woman, slightly overweight, and had the look of someone who has learned it is never a good idea to question life. She barely even gave the shaking cage a second glance when it was briefly rested at nose level, as Connor showed his pass.

She did start however, when, as the four headed to the lifts and she dipped a hand into a crisp packet, a rasping voice squawked, 'CALORIES', somewhat muffled by the blanket, but audible nevertheless.

As the elevator rose towards the seventh floor, snatches of bickering voices could be picked out…

'You never said it could talk!'

'You never asked!'

'Apparently it's incredibly intelligent.'

'Well, bloody brilliant!'

'You better hope it doesn't say anything in front of Lester…'

'I think even Lester would draw the line at parrot pie.'

'…'

'He wouldn't? Right?'

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'Come in!'

The voice was clipped, and sharp, and, when the door swung open, perfectly matched the sharp suited man sitting at the neat glass desk, upon which everything, even the pens, was laid out perpendicular, parallel or both to each of its neighbours. The scene was a complete contrast to that of the Professor's office, and judging by the glare on his face, it clearly wasn't a case of opposites attract.

'Professor Cutter. What can I do for you?'

The tone was snide, and the Professor bristled.

'We found a parrot.'

'How nice for you.'

'It isn't from around here.'

'Where's the anomaly?'

'There's no anomaly.'

The man behind the desk raised an eyebrow.

'Abby took it off a man who found it in his garden. The anomaly will be long gone by now.'

'And what do you expect me to do?'

'Your job?'

'I have no responisibilty for stranded birds, Professor Cutter. Can't you send it to a zoo?'

'Too high a risk if an expert got hold of it. Anyone who knows anything about birds would know it isn't a categorised species.'

'Then I suggest you find another alternative. I'm sure it won't live that long.'

The cage rattled.

'FISH FRIDAYS!' announced a voice at top volume. Lester started.

'It can talk?'

'POSTMAN! POSTMAN! POSTMAN! BOMBS AWAY!'

'Why is it talking birds can never say anything remotely normal?'

'STICK UP THE ARSE!'

Connor and Abby were both biting back grins, and Stephen and the Professor looked mildly amused. Lester sighed heavily.

'Well, I hear Miss Maitland has a small menagerie at home. Why don't you take that…thing? Company for the green lizard creature.'

All eyes turned to Abby. She sighed.

'Well I suppose I could take him for a little while. Until we find somewhere more suitable.'

Lester smiled.

'Problem solved. You can see yourselves out.'

This abrupt dismissal caused the Professor to suck in a breath sharply through his nose.

'Well that's us told,' muttered Connor.

As they were filing out, just before the door swung shut, a voice could be screeching.

'ARSE!'

_Two weeks later._

Exhausted, mud-covered and irritated, the team trooped back into the home office, welcoming the end of a horrible day chasing large prehistoric birds around a sports centre. No matter what mood you were in, a large ostrich in a sauna was never good news.

It was after they had all showered and changed, and were sitting around a conference table, trying to compile their reports that the topic came up, voiced by Stephen.

'Hey Abby, what happened to that bird you took in? Did he settle alright?'

Connor gave a hollow groan. Abby smiled brightly.

'Oh yes, he settled in perfectly. Most useful.'

Stephen shot a quizzical look her way. Connor buried his head in his hands. Abby's smile grew wider.

'Connor's never experienced a better alarm clock.'


End file.
